by Linda Jones
A few of the folks who were on the street and the boardwalk nodded and said goodbye, but most of them stayed clear. He'd already been asked, several times, for a reason for his resignation, and his vague answers had left the nosy interrogators unsatisfied. His leaving was sudden and unexpected, he knew, and many of the town's residents were confused. They seemed to feel he was deserting them, somehow.
"Cyrus!” He lifted his head to see a limping Hank Smith and a hysterical Merilee hurrying down the street. Something was wrong. Hank walked faster than usual, in a way that made his limp look pronounced and painful, and Merilee seemed not to notice that her skirt and petticoats dragged through the mud.
"What's wrong?"
"Is she here?” Merilee asked breathlessly as she and Hank looked up and down the street, into spaces between buildings they passed, and then, expectantly, at him.
"Who?” he thought, his mind immediately going to Roxanne.
"Mary Alice,” Hank said as they reached Cyrus. “She heard us talking over breakfast about you leaving today, and she got very upset. She wanted to find you to say goodbye, but Merilee was feeding the babies and I was eating my breakfast, and.... “he stopped, breathless. “When I went to look for her just a few minutes later, she was gone. We thought maybe she'd decided to come here on her own, so we left Henry and Chloe with the neighbors and hurried on down to catch you."
"I haven't seen her.” A niggling concern settled inside his chest. Dammit, he couldn't ride out of town not knowing where Mary Alice was, without making sure she was safe in her parents’ arms. He hitched his horse to the nearest post. “But she can't have gotten far."
Merilee breathed a sigh of relief, as Cyrus agreed to help them search for her daughter. “Mary Alice could be anywhere,” she said. “That child never walks in a straight line. She's always wandering this way and that.” Merilee was so nervous her voice was unnaturally fast and high, as she tried to make idle conversation. “Why, if I send her from the kitchen to the parlor to fetch something for me, she's likely to take a detour through her bedroom and the pantry and the front porch."
Cyrus led the small search party down the middle of the street, walking over a high spot where the surface was driest. It made sense that Mary Alice had stopped somewhere between her house and here. Her parents had made the mistake of walking in a straight line in their search. The little girl had probably made one of her detours; to a friend's house or the park or toward some unusual and beautiful sight that had caught her eye.
A beautiful sight caught his eye. Roxanne walked straight toward him, chin high and eyes—even from this distance—cool and angry. Just as well.
Merilee took a few quick steps toward her friend. “Have you seen Mary Alice this morning?"
"No.” Roxanne's anger fled quickly. She looked every bit as concerned as Merilee. “Is she missing?"
Merilee nodded her head quickly. “She wanted to say goodbye to Cyrus, and Hank and I were both busy so she just left the house on her own. I can't believe she did that,” she said with tears in her voice. “Why, as soon as I give her a big hug and a kiss I'm going to tan her hide."
Roxanne gave him a quick, cutting glance that said very clearly that this was all his fault. “I'll help you look for her."
The four of them continued down the road, Roxanne retracing her steps until they reached the next cross street. Cyrus turned right and the others followed. Mallory Park was down this road, and so was Mary Alice's notorious little friend Edith Terry.
"So, today's the day,” Roxanne said in a low, biting voice. “I didn't know."
"Yep,” Cyrus muttered, his eyes straight ahead.
Their steps carried them further and faster than the Smiths, and they soon distanced themselves from the pair.
"So you were just going to leave without a word,” she accused.
"We've already said everything that needs to be said.” It started to rain again, and the wind howled. Cyrus glanced to the darkening sky. “I figured it would be best if I just left. No need to make a fuss."
"Oh, no,” she said in a voice that was sure to carry much too far. “No need to make a fuss."
Hank and Merilee surely heard. Not that it mattered; he'd be gone as soon as he found Mary Alice.
Cyrus kept his searching gaze straight ahead, but he could feel Roxanne's eyes on him. They burned, they prodded, they intruded ... and he cherished every uncomfortable minute, because he knew he would never feel it again.
The rain and the wind picked up, but no one made a run for cover. The change in weather only made Merilee and Hank worry more, so that they hurried to catch up. Their little girl was out in what could turn out to be another vicious storm.
A faint cry, far away and indistinct, intruded, and Cyrus stopped suddenly. “Did you hear that?"
"I did,” Merilee whispered. “That was Mary Alice, I just know it. Where is she?"
Cyrus moved forward, increasing his step, breaking into a slow run. Hank struggled to keep up, and Merilee and Roxanne held their skirts off the ground and ran. The sound came again, a slightly more audible and terrifying wail that sent a shiver up his spine.
Mallory Park waited straight ahead; the trees, the expanse of wet grass, the flowering hedges, and all of a sudden he saw her. Mary Alice hung precariously from the railing of the bridge that spanned the creek. Rising waters had weakened the structure so that it canted dangerously to one side, the support beams loosened or gone, the structure shaking as rushing water buffeted it. Mary Alice hung above the water, her arms straining, her head lifted as she cried out for help.
Cyrus broke into a flat-out run. The others tried to keep up, but they soon fell behind; Hank hampered by his bad hip, the ladies held back by their long skirts that dragged through the mud, and by the wind and rain that pushed them back. His hat flew away. Merilee screamed.
The same mud and rain and wind that hampered the others tried to pull at Cyrus, grabbing his boots and hanging on, pushing against him, making his effort more difficult. He fought the forces of nature that seemed to grow more determined with every passing second; the wind harsh, the rain nearly blinding as it pelted his face. Reality became too much like the dream, where invisible ringers tried to hold him back.
Can't be too slow this time. The air in his lungs burned, his legs pumped so hard the world around him became a green and gray blur. Mary Alice turned her head and saw him, and she screamed again; louder this time.
"Sheriff Cyrus!"
Even from here he could see that she was barely hanging on. Her little fingers clutched the railing tenuously, her feet dangled mere inches from rushing water, the wind that tried to push her back grabbed at her hair and her pale yellow dress, like a living monster that tried to yank her away from the safety of her family.
He ran hard and fast. Fast enough? He ran until he was no longer aware of the mud beneath his feet or the rain or the wind or the people who were, by now, far behind him. Everything else stopped, until there was only him and Mary Alice, and the space between them.
The bridge cracked and shuddered, and Mary Alice screamed as her lifeline, the thin railing, shook and shuddered.
"Hold on,” Cyrus whispered. Almost there. He could see the grain of splintering wood, the white knuckles of Mary Alice's tiny hands, the chocolate brown of her eyes.
She slipped, until it looked as if only her fingertips kept her from falling into the rushing water. Not fast enough. As Cyrus reached the bank of the normally serene creek Mary Alice fell. Without so much as slowing his step he lunged toward her.
His arms found her as they both fell with a jarring splash into the water. What had once been a creek was now a river that rushed swiftly, carrying them quickly away from the damaged bridge. He struggled to keep Mary Alice's head above water. She screamed once, and then worked her arms around his neck and held on tight.
Cold water pushed and pulled at him, the current impossibly strong. His head bobbed, and a torrent of the icy water flooded his mouth, threatening
to choke him. Mary Alice's head was above his, but she felt the cold as surely as he did. Her entire body shivered, the thin arms around his neck shook almost violently.
All he had to do was find a place to grab on to, a way to get Mary Alice onto the bank. Rushing water and rain lashed against his face, and through it all he searched for a way to the bank.
"Hold on tight!” he shouted into Mary Alice's ear. He knew she heard through the thundering rush of water because her little arms tightened around his neck. He kept one arm around her—the water rushed all around them, unmercifully strong, and he didn't trust even her strongest grip—and with the other he tried to steer them toward the bank. It wasn't easy, but the edge of the rushing water got closer and he was able to reach out and grab at solid land. A clod of mud and grass came apart easily in his hand and they continued to drift.
He saw the roots of a tree ahead, roots that had grown through the ground and over the edge of the bank. When they drifted near, he reached out and grabbed a root. The water continued to lash them, but at least they were no longer being swept away. He hung there for a moment, head down, Mary Alice snug against him, cold water rushing all around. He couldn't move. Every ounce of energy in his body was drained, every muscle screamed.
He heard the ominous crack above, and for a moment he thought the sound was simply another clap of thunder. He lifted his head and saw the heavy limb above his head shudder and shake and dip.
He looked up to see Roxanne running straight for him. Merilee and Hank were behind her, struggling to keep up. The limb cracked again.
"Come on, sweetie,” he whispered, and Mary Alice raised her head. “You're all right, now."
He heaved, with the arm that held onto the root, and raised them both out of the water.
"Cyrus!” Roxanne shouted, her voice an unmistakable warning.
He looked up as the branch cracked again, louder than before. It was coming down. He just had time to shove Mary Alice away before the limb crashed down upon his head.
The schoolteacher in her took over, and Roxanne began to issue orders as she and Hank dragged an unconscious Cyrus away from the water. Merilee carried Mary Alice and ran for shelter, and Hank hurried back toward the square to the doctor's office.
Roxanne checked Cyrus's head. She sat on the wet ground and leaned over him so the rain didn't pelt him directly in the face, and she examined his head with her fingers. She found a nasty lump on one side, and her hand came away bloody.
She reached beneath her skirt to rip away a long length of her single petticoat, folding it into a thick square and pressing it firmly over the gash in his head, doing her best to stop the bleeding.
He still hadn't moved or so much as opened his eyes.
"Damn you,” she muttered. The wind that had been so horrific for a time had subsided to a brisk, steady breeze, so her words were quite clear. “Don't you dare die."
The rain slowed and then stopped, as the last of the brief but violent storm moved east. “Don't you dare,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes slowly, as if the effort pained him. “Is she all right?” he asked in a raspy whisper.
"Mary Alice is fine, and Hank has gone for the doctor."
Cyrus tried to sit up, but the effort was short-lived. He sank back to the ground and closed his eyes. “If Mary Alice is fine, then why does she need a doctor?"
"The doctor is for you.” She laid a hand on his chest. “You took quite a nasty blow to the head."
"I don't need a doctor,” Cyrus insisted stubbornly. “I just need to ... to lie here for a minute and pull myself together."
"Of course,” she said testily, never easing the pressure on his wound. “Let's see, you nearly drowned, and a limb that might've killed you fell down on your head. I'm sure a few minutes of rest will mend everything.” She snorted. “Ridiculous. You're going to let the doctor take care of you, and I won't stand for any argument."
He cracked one eye open and looked up at her. “You sure are bossy, you know that?"
"Only when it's necessary."
He took a deep breath and closed that one condemning eye. “Goddammit, I'm wet,” he muttered. “I hate being wet."
Roxanne refused to leave Cyrus when Hank arrived with the doctor and half a dozen others. Hamlin Nickels brought a wagon around, and even though it lurched and rocked through the mud, Cyrus was able to ride away from the scene of the incident. She insisted on taking him to her house so she could care for him there, but Cyrus, in one of his more lucid moments, opened his eyes and glared at her and said if he was going anywhere it would be home.
Close enough, she decided.
She ran to her own house to change into dry clothes only because the doctor and Hank refused to allow her to be present as they stripped the wounded man and dressed him in dry clothes of his own before putting him to bed. But she made quick work of her task, and was back at Cyrus's side as the doctor examined his wound.
"Looks pretty bad,” the doctor said as he applied a thick, dry bandage.
"I could've told you that,” Roxanne snapped.
The doctor, who was a good friend of Josiah's, gave her a cutting glance to put her in her place. “Let him rest, and later on today try to get him to take a little broth. Nothing heavy."
"I can do that,” Roxanne said. “Anything else?"
The doctor shook his head as he gathered up his medical bag. “All we can do is wait and see. I'll check in on him again this evening.” He closed the door easily on his way out, and Roxanne gave her full attention to the man on the bed. He slept again, breathing steadily and deeply.
"He saved Mary Alice,” Hank said with a mixture of relief and wonder and horror.
"Yes, he did,” Roxanne whispered.
Still in his wet clothes, with his damp hair stuck to his head, Hank paced at the end of the bed. “I haven't seen a man run like that since.... “he stopped abruptly.
Roxanne lifted her head. “Since when?"
He shook his head. “Doesn't matter."
She had a feeling, from the way he said it, that it did matter. “Was it Cyrus?"
"Yes."
"In the war?"
Hank shifted his feet uncomfortably. “I don't talk about the war much. And I don't think you want to hear this particular story."
"I do."
He laid sad eyes on her. “Louis was there."
Her heart constricted. “I know."
Hank's story began the same as Cyrus's, but it was different in many respects. In Hank's version, Cyrus was much too far away from Louis to be of any help, and the killing blow had been struck while Cyrus still fought another Yankee. When he'd turned and seen that Louis was wounded, he'd begun to run. Hank shook his head in wonder. He'd never seen a man run that fast before, like the wind rushed beneath his feet, like he had wings. He'd never seen a man run that fast since, until today.
"He thinks he could've saved Louis if he'd been faster,” Roxanne said.
Hank shook his head. “Impossible. He did kill the Yankee who did Louis in, but not before.... “He raised a hand to his face. “Not before he was wounded."
How many nightmares had it taken for Cyrus's memories to become so confused that he didn't know what was real and what was not? How many tortured nights had he dreamed of that battle?
Roxanne reached out and took Cyrus's hand. The fingers she gripped were cold, inert, and she gave them a little squeeze hoping for a response. Nothing. “Have you ever spoken to Cyrus about that day?” she asked softly.
"No,” Hank said, aghast. “We don't talk about the war."
"It's very painful, I'm sure.” She continued to hold Cyrus's hand. “But he needs to hear the truth from someone who was there."
"He knows—"
"He blames himself for Louis's death."
"No,” Hank was horrified. “Cyrus was always the best of us. He saved my life more than once, and Louis's, too. How could he possibly blame himself?"
Not caring that Hank hovered over her shoulder
, Roxanne leaned over and kissed Cyrus on the cheek. “Did you hear that, my love? You've let a nightmare take the place of your memories. You've blamed yourself all this time, and it's not true."
"I'm going to go home and check on Merilee and Mary Alice,” Hank said in a gruff voice. “I'll be back shortly."
"No rush,” Roxanne said, her eyes on Cyrus's sleeping face. “I'm not going anywhere."
She leaned closer, and as she did she heard Hank quietly leave the house, closing the door behind him. “I love you,” she whispered. “Remember. Remember what really happened so we can have a life together."
The hand she held moved. The stirring she felt was little more than a tremble, as Cyrus's fingers seemed to try to clutch hers. And then he was still again.
* * * *
He ran, and this time nothing held him back. The battle continued around him, but he was somehow distant from it. Up ahead, Louis did battle with a Yankee. They were evenly matched, one small, young, frightened man against another. There are no monsters here.
Cyrus ran unimpeded, his legs pumping without pain and without effort. The sun and the wind didn't only surround him, they carried him. He flew across the battlefield.
As he reached Louis everything disappeared; the Yankee, the battle, the field littered with dead and wounded bodies. Louis was whole and smiling. There was no bayonet swinging up and into Cyrus's face. There was no blood, no death, no screams.
"I thought you'd never get here,” Louis said with a grin. His rifle changed to a walking stick, his uniform into a regular suit of clothes.
"Me, either.” Cyrus looked down. His uniform had changed, also, into the clothes he wore on an ordinary day in Paris. His rifle was gone, and in its place he carried a crooked cane that still bore the marks of the tree it had once been a part of; a knot near a bend in the center, a bit of bark showing on the grip. He looked behind him, expecting the battle to reappear at any moment, but all was peaceful.
